The cleaning lady prepared homemade baby food for him, and he ate it all. Little Diego’s heart-wrenching cries echoed throughout the mansion like a death omen. And at that moment, no one imagined that a humble cleaning lady was about to save the life of the heir to the Mendoza fortune.
Valentina Serrano clutched her worn suitcase tightly as she surveyed the imposing residence before her. Three stories of modern architecture in the exclusive Polanco neighborhood of Mexico City, with windows that reflected the afternoon sun like golden mirrors. She had never set foot in a place like this. She, who came from a small town in Guanajuato, where the houses had adobe walls and tin roofs.
“Miss Serrano, this way.” The curt voice of Mrs. Matilde, the housekeeper, snapped her out of her reverie. A woman of about sixty with her hair pulled back in a tight bun and an expression that offered no hint of kindness. Valentina followed her down the main hallway. Her old shoes squeaked against the Italian marble, and every step reminded her how out of place she felt.
The walls were decorated with paintings that probably cost more than she had ever earned. “Here are your duties,” Mrs. Matilde handed her an endless list: cleaning the common areas, the service bathrooms, the industrial kitchen, and under no circumstances should you go up to the second floor.
“That’s the family’s private area. Understood?” “Yes, ma’am.” Valentina nodded, though her attention was drawn to a cry coming from upstairs. A weak, almost muffled cry, as if the person crying had run out of strength. “Ignore that!” Matilde ordered coldly. “Little Diego is always like this. We’ve had five nannies in three months. None of them have managed to get the boy to eat.”
“The doctors say it’s fussiness, but if you ask me, that baby has been cursed ever since his mother died.” Valentina felt a chill run through her. How could anyone say that about a baby? “Start with the kitchen,” Matilde continued. “Miss Renata will be here this afternoon, and everything must be spotless. She’s very demanding.” For the next few hours, Valentina worked tirelessly.
The kitchen was bigger than her entire house in Guanajuato. Stainless steel appliances gleamed like jewels. A pantry overflowed with imported foods whose names she couldn’t even pronounce. But as she cleaned, the crying wouldn’t stop haunting her. It was mid-afternoon when the sound of heels echoed in the hallway.
A woman of about 35 appeared in the kitchen. Platinum blonde hair, an ivory suit that screamed money, and a permanent expression of disdain on her perfectly made-up face. “You must be the new employee,” she said without even looking at her directly. “I’m Renata Villarreal, Don Sebastián Mendoza’s fiancée. I hope you last longer than the previous ones.”
“This house needs staff who know their place. It’s a pleasure, Miss Villarreal.” Valentina gave a small bow, feeling the woman scrutinize her from head to toe with contempt. “Make sure my tea is ready at 5 o’clock sharp. Japanese green tea.” 80 grams. Not one more, not one less.
And when Mrs. Lorena, Sebastián’s sister, arrives, make Turkish coffee. She’s very particular. Renata left, leaving behind a trail of expensive perfume and arrogance. Valentina sighed and went back to her work, but that crying was still there, growing fainter, like a silent plea. She couldn’t take it anymore.
Against all the rules, against Matilde’s warnings, Valentina put down her cleaning rag and went upstairs to the second floor. Her heart was pounding. She could lose her job. She could be humiliated and thrown out on the street, but something stronger than fear drove her. She followed the sound to a room at the end of the hall. The door was ajar.
She peeked in carefully, and what she saw broke her heart. A beautiful baby, about 10 months old, was in a luxurious crib that looked like it came straight out of a fairy tale. But little Diego was pale, gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes that shouldn’t exist on such an innocent face. He was crying with a weakness that chilled the blood.
Beside him, a young woman in a nanny’s uniform was trying to give him a bottle, but the baby rejected it again and again, turning his head away in despair. “Come on, Diego, please,” the nanny pleaded wearily. “It’s imported milk from Switzerland, the best there is. Why don’t you want it?” The baby cried even louder, arching his small body. Valentina couldn’t hold back any longer.
She entered the room. “Who are you?” The nanny, whose name tag read Sofia, looked at her in surprise. “You can’t be here. I’m sorry. I heard the baby.” Valentina approached the crib. Little Diego looked at her with those honey-colored eyes filled with tears, and something happened, something inexplicable. The baby reached out his tiny hands toward her.
“Unbelievable,” Sofia murmured. “He won’t even look at me like that. He hasn’t eaten a thing in two days. The doctors…”
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